


OroSaku - Collared and tied

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Light Bondage, NSFW, No Sex, Power Struggle, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 09:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: Criminal Orochimaru is pinned down by ANBU Sakura, and anticipates on having sex with her. He likes being collared by her again. [Short fic based on a prompt]





	OroSaku - Collared and tied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monophobian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monophobian/gifts).



"I'm just tagging my little pet~" she says.

Orochimaru lifts his chin, to let Sakura Haruno put the black collar around his throat. His eyes scan the hotel room. Officially she’s on ANBU business and investigating him. Officially, he’s gambling in South Creek Casino. But Suigetsu has taken his place using a simple transformation jutsu, and instead he is here.

When the buckle clicks into place, the sound announces the start of his new reality. He still doesn’t know how he feels about this diagonal power dynamic, but he’s an addict. 

“My dear,” he whispers hoarsely, and at pronouncing the letter D, his adams apple moves against the collar. “Could you loosen it by one slot?” Two slots would be too much, and he likes it tight: it supports his neck.

The collar is thick and made of leather. Any collar made of fabric would get damp, would burn, and create friction. Leather is easy to clean. It is sturdy. It has a big D-shaped ring fitted at the front and the back, which can be used to hook chains through. But he doesn’t need big chains to hold him down. He doesn’t have to break away. 

Sometimes, a little chain is enough. 

The link that connects his collar to the kunoichi, is a thread from a travel sewing kit. It is thin and breakable. Should it snap, any of her affections will stop, and he wants them. 

The collar is comfortable to wear. It cuts off his breath during sex and during fights, making him feel light-headed. He can hide it under his turtleneck shirts, but now his yukata is open at the chest. He wears no other clothes that that. Usually he is fully clothed in many layers because he detests the cold, but he doesn’t need clothes around her. The air is singing with heat, presses against their skin. 

“You may begin,” he says. He wonders if she’s sweating under all that ANBU armour. She never takes anything off, not even the black gloves that reach up till her armpits. Those gloves make her look as if she was stolen from a glittering gala with crystal chandeliers and ankle-length dresses and bubbling champagne from bottles that cost more than the average car.

He wants to take her to such a gala, and dreams idly of how he would show her off. 

Her fist lashes out as if she heard his thoughts and declines the invitation. He blocks, but she lashes out her other fist, too. He blocks again. This violence in the bedroom is all part of their agreement. For her it’s a way to ascertain herself that she is in control and that he won’t do anything to touch her. Perhaps it revenge? He can never quite tell. For him, it’s a way to feel alive _._  

Then she steps close as if she wants to kiss him, and she hits him again. 

This time all air is slammed from his lungs. For a moment his body thinks it will suffocate. He doubles over and coughs hard. He stares at her sandals, she’s wearing heels. She grabs a handful of his hair and forces him to look up. The only thing he can do is look up to her, and gasp for the air he lost. She throws him onto the double bed with the peach-coloured sheets. For a moment he is weightless, as he backwards. 

His heart drums with alarm. He experiences everything so vividly, and so slowly. It feels like he’s on drugs, or as if he’s in love. But neither is the case. 

For her this must be a lipstick mission. For him, it is the height of the season. The rest of the season he will work to collect enough dangerous and vital information to sell to Konoha that they will have to send her again. He tried out a few other ninjas, but she is the best. She’s ruthless. He likes that she seems to dislike him. Lord Orochimaru will accept no other payment than this. 

“Don’t make the thread snap,” she warns as she sits down on his lap. 

Her hips against hers made his eyes jump open. He is laying with his back on the mattress and puts his hands on her hips to hold her still. But she  _grinds_  against him, rolls herself over his crotch as she absent-mindedly collects the white thread. It drives him wild.

He dips his thumbs between her trousers and her skin of her tummy, and imagines seeing her naked.

But she slams his arms away. She winds the thread around his fingers like they are on the playground playing thread-bridge. Then she pulls the thread, and his fingers are woven as together as if he were praying. This was Sasori’s technique. How she learnt it, he had no idea. It immobilises him effectively. She pushes his hands above his head.

“You used to fight,” she says. “Nowadays you don’t even try to win.”

“I like it when you top,” he replies. “I am in control so often. To me, it is a  _freedom_  to be controlled, pinned down, and fucked.”

“You are so weird,” she says. 

“If you wonder what it would be like if the tables were turned. If I held you down with one hand while I pushed into you, would you like it? You’re always welcome to stop by at my lair to find out.”

“You’re a creep,” she says. 

“Just sex, nothing else,” he promises. 

She rolls her hips. The friction against his groin cuts him off, makes him gasp. He wants to grab and fuck her already. He almost breaks the thread, but sometimes, a little chain is plenty to hold down one the most powerful of men. 

He would gladly be her pet for the rest of the night. He can hardly wait until the part where he may eat her out. When he uses his tongue and she makes _that_ expression, that moment if his favourite. 

He’s an addict to her, and an addict to power, and he can only take it when he’s first rendered powerless. He doesn’t care if it makes him a strange: he is disconcerted with her opinions - as long as she fucks him silly. 

"I will kiss you like I mean it," he says.

She gives him a look. But she leans down nonetheless.

Their lips press together in that kiss. Orochimaru means it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment on what you liked! <3 Comments are fandom currency, they make me post more. :D


End file.
